Wednesday, August 3, 2011

We Get An E-Mailed Intervention: The Followup

"In the fight for survival, it’s always better to eat than be eaten." ~ John Engen (only known source)
In the continuation of yesterdays blog entry, where we got an e-mail from a girl who used to know us (as much as anyone could know us before this year, she was a friend of The Other Girl) that was akin to some sort of intervention – we decided we would share her response to our reply to her e-mail (our response was posted in yesterdays blog entry) if only because we were very confused about what she had to say:
“Perhaps you should read more closely. This was not about your living with MPD/DID. I have done my research, in fact many MPD and DID people are reluctant to seek medical help is because they feel they will be forced to remove or "kill" a personality and this is the LAST thing they want. Rest assured I do nothing haphazardly. Maybe you are forgetting that the alcohol was the reason you gave me when you decided to cut everyone off from your lives. (or maybe that was just the excuse?) This was about your reckless lifestyle and your consumption of people's lives with complete disregard. All I see is a coward in all of you. Do not contact me any further.”
The first words spit out of our mouth were … “If that wasn’t about DID/MPD then where the hell did the statement ‘This is a serious medical crisis. You need to be admitted to a hospital.’ Come from?!”
Are we really, honestly supposed to believe they, the people behind that letter/e-mail were seriously meaning that because we didn’t want them in our lives anymore and we were sleeping with our married manager, that THAT was enough to be hospital-ready? The arrogance of such a thing; so we drink, and we slept with a married man who happened to be our superior, and didn’t want people we didn’t like in the first place part of our lives…if that’s grounds for being admitted to a hospital than fuck us, the hospitals would be overrun by drunken loose women.
And as far as being reluctant to get medical help, as anybody with DID/MPD…and even other mental illness know, if you can’t find a doctor who even believes in your disorder; a huge percentage don’t believe in many of them, especially DID/MPD. You can find out by reading peoples who experience life with it and who work with professional about how long it took them to find a doctor who would even consider what they were saying was legitimate, and by the length of time it usually takes for someone with the disorder to be diagnosed properly, which is an average of 7 years1), then how can you even begin to get help. We know we’ve talked about not wanting “help” because we don’t want to lose each other, we also don’t want it because we don’t want a psychologist to sit us down and make us feel crazier than a couple of us already feel we are. How would you like a medical professional to sit you down, someone who deals with “crazy mental disorders” and tell you are even crazier than you feel, or worse tell you that you are a liar and you don’t understand your own mind; no fucking thanks.
Sure alcohol was the excuse we had to remove people from our lives, the people we used to hang out with used to binge drink on the weekend, some to the excess of passing out/blacking out and making poor decisions. We choose to spread the same consumption throughout the week. We also disliked their company (pretty sure a few of us thought TNB…”The Bestie” was a vapid cunt bag - and by god, she is), and it’s something we wrote about in a blog entry. An excuse is just another word for a reason, and in this case it was a REASON to not be around those people, as well as the other reasons. Sure, excuse (apparently an excuse is just a reason to justify a fault), reason. Kiss our ass. It was a fucking reason for the best decision we could have ever made for ourselves. Reckless lifestyle and consuming people; whatever, they were empty calories anyway.
By the way, Pixie Princess, if you are reading this…ask your fiancĂ© about all the times he told us he was in love with “me”, and the day he took us through a McDonalds drive-thru and pled that we understand the difficulty in “loving more than one woman.” What the fuck ever. We consumed you all because you were eating us fucking alive.
This case is closed – we won’t contact her further, if only because we didn't contact her at all, nor would we have though to; some people just need to come to grips with the fact they aren’t always as important to other as they think they are. We came to grips with it long ago, and it suits us just fine. We may have been important to them, but they didn't know us, nor would they like us now.
There…that’s what two glasses of wine and some pent up anger will get you.
Tomorrow we’ll be writing a little about finding a job, and the problem with people saying “$10 is $10” when you talk to them about jobs below your skill level. A job is a job…that’s a legit thing to say…but if you can’t live on $10 an hour, then you still can’t live. We’ll be writing it if we can agree on writing about it…we might take the day to paint though since we spent today letting the twins have lunch with the man they love (and thank you, James, for letting them do that), applying for no less than 6 jobs and finally, FINALLY, finished out taxes!
~Frank (Sam, Catherine & Melody)

1 comment:

  1. I fear that you are right on the money, it really does depend upon getting a psychiatrist/psychologist/mental health professional that believes that DID/MPD exists. I find this heartbreaking because it does not really matter what the diagnosis; if someone is in distress, they are in distress and it is our/my job to allow them to access interventions at their pace to get them to where they want to go or be.
    Keep doing what you are doing Frank; I am very proud to be associated with you and your blog
    Kerry xxx